


An Unsavoury Sort of Gentleman

by marius_pont_de_bercy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marius_pont_de_bercy/pseuds/marius_pont_de_bercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"If you've half the price, I've a guest who'll share a room.  Said he was looking for somebody to room with, just for a night or two."</i>
</p>
<p>A poet and an assassin make for odd bedfellows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unsavoury Sort of Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> Bed sharing fics may be slightly clichéd, but I was feeling a bit down and decided that some Montprouvaire fluff would fix things.

"I..." The tips of Prouvaire's ears had gone scarlet with embarrassment. "I don't have that much money."

The innkeeper sighed heavily. "D'you expect me to give you a room on _charity?_ "

"N...no..." Prouvaire was growing progressively redder. 

A heavy sigh from the innkeeper. "If you've half the price, I've a guest who'll share a room. Said he was looking for somebody to room with, just for a night or two."

The poet counted out the proper amount of coins and shoved it toward the innkeeper with an expression of relief. "I'll take it. Anything."

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "He's a bit of an unsavoury type..."

"It's all the same to me." Prouvaire picked up his valise. "No. I'll take it nonetheless."

"Very well." 

After supper, Prouvaire had gone up and set his possessions beside the bed.

It was a small room, sparsely furnished, with a small window and faded curtains. There was a tallow candle flickering on the little side table, and he was set on staying awake until his _unsavoury bedfellow_ returned to the inn. 

_Unsavoury. Perhaps he's dangerous. A highwayman, maybe. A dashing sort..._

Gazing at the ceiling, Prouvaire had begun to concoct a ridiculously dramatic figure, a romantic sort of brigand, when the door slammed open.

A slender figure was silhouetted in the door. 

"May I ask what you're doing in my room?" The figure's voice was smooth and somehow threatening, despite the lopsided smirk on his face. He was nearly invisible in the shadows, an elegant silhouette.

"You- you aren't a highwayman..."

" _What?_ " The apparition seemed taken aback.

"I said you aren't a highwayman." Prouvaire was starting to go red again. 

"And what sort of an explanation was that?" The figure stepped into the candlelight and Prouvaire's heart skipped a beat. _Christ, he's a Roman god..._

Prouvaire's highwayman had dark hair, a redness to his cheeks- _damasked roses,_ Prouvaire decided- and to his lips, pale marble features, and startlingly white teeth, bared in a smirk.

"I- the landlord- he said you were looking to share-"

" _Le bâtard._ " The dandy scowled. "He's said nothing of a _bedfellow,_ nor of a lowered _rent._ "

"I..." Prouvaire reached for his coat. "I'll leave, if you'd like..."

"No." His gaze flicked over the poet. "Stay." 

A tiny smile played across the poet's lips. "I know you, don't I? Montparnasse, the _devil's dandy._ "

"Hmm. Yes. You really ought to be frightened." He grinned wolfishly, starting to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. 

"Perhaps. But I'm hardly frightened of anything."

"Of anything, _oiseau?_ " Montparnasse smirked.

Prouvaire gave a tiny smile, lying down on the bed and moving over, close to the wall, to leave room for the dandy. Montparnasse stepped closer.

"Ah! I know you, too. That little poet, one of Enjolras's _idealists._ "

"Prouvaire."

"A lovely name. Your friends call you..."

"Jehan. Perhaps it's rather fanciful..." Prouvaire could feel himself start to go red again.

"It suits you." Montparnasse put out the candle and then lay down beside Prouvaire in his shirtsleeves, pulling the blanket up over himself. "Goodnight, I suppose..."

Prouvaire turned his head to look at him. A minute passed in silence, and then Montparnasse noticed the poet's wide eyed gaze in the dim moonlight from the window. 

"You can sleep, sparrow. I shan't stab you."

"Do you promise?" A soft laugh.

"I do."

 

Montparnasse woke to find himself entangled with the poet, Prouvaire half on top of him and his own arms wrapped around the other's waist. He shifted slightly, reluctantly trying to disentangle himself.

"Jehan..."

A soft moan in response. 

"Jehan, I've got to go out..."

Still half asleep, the poet buried his face in Montparnasse's shoulder. "It's _cold_ out."

"I've got _work._ " The dandy laughed, amused.

"Noooo..." Prouvaire drew the word out, his eyes still closed.

Montparnasse finally managed to loosen the poet's hold and slipped out of bed. Only when he had accomplished this did he realise how cold it was without Prouvaire's slender form beside him. 

"I'll be back." He leaned in to stroke the poet's hair back from his face, a smile playing across his lips.

"You'd better." Prouvaire's voice was soft with sleep.

 

At five in the morning, Montparnasse slipped back into the little bedroom and let his waistcoat and his jacket fall onto the chair.

"Miss me?"

No response from the sleeping poet, but Montparnasse smiled nonetheless. He slipped under the covers, and Prouvaire moved closer, resting his head against the dandy's shoulder again. Montparnasse wound his arms around the sleeping form's waist. 

"You're back."

Perhaps not asleep after all.

"Told you I would be."

"You've got to stay with me now, until morning, or I'll never forgive you." There was a small, happy smile on the poet's face.

"Don't worry, _oiseau._ I mean to stay with you." 

"Good." The scarlet hue rising in Prouvaire's cheeks was mercifully hidden by the darkness.

And then, before he could think it through properly, the dandy's mouth had found the poet's, and Prouvaire was half on top of him again, and Montparnasse felt somehow breathless and filled with sparks.


End file.
